


Constellation of Scars

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, M/M, and noctis indulges, cor gets to relax for once, i needed more CorNoct in my life so here it is, nothing sexual happens, only sweet sweet intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 05:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: But with each loving kiss pressed upon his flaws and marks, Cor found it easier to see himself through Noctis’ gaze. Because whatever Noctis loved must certainly be something worthy of all the adoration.It goes without saying Cor has amassed his fair share of scars. He's never felt self-conscious of his earnings, but Noctis makes them feel beautiful.





	Constellation of Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh. So I'm disappointed that there's not more CorNoct. Send me the ship and I'll ride it across the seven seas, ahoy. But at this point, it's more like a dinky raft, huh? 
> 
> no beta we die like reggie-o

“Have you ever thought of getting a tattoo?” 

“Why? So I can replace Gladiolus as your Shield?” 

Noctis smiled wryly, gently smacking a paint-stained hand across Cor's bare shoulder blade. “Yeah, so I can totally mess up centuries of tradition and family honor and all that jazz just so this selfish prince can turn the Marshal into my Shield,” he snorted, sarcasm and amusement dripping off every word and inflection. “It’s just, iunno. Seems like an idea.” 

“Perhaps one day then.”

Here, in Cor's private chambers, they gave up all pretenses and honorifics separating their stations. Cor wasn't Marshal or the Immortal or some stone-edged warrior formed from the steel of his blade or the blood of beasts. Noctis wasn't Crown Prince or a living one-man army who could decimate entire squadrons with his deft illusory magics and immense arsenal of mastered weapons. 

They were just two men, finding comfort in soft intimacy and softer touches. 

Noctis had barged into his office earlier that day, firing orders to make Cor clear his schedule and free up his evening — he had even pulled rank to use his Prince status when the man made to argue. And Noctis rarely used his position to bow others to his whims, and Cor knew how much he hated any reference to his power and privilege as royalty; so the moment he had heard Noctis take advantage of that, Cor had realized just how serious his prince was. 

Just, he hadn't realized how premeditated this all was. Hadn't expected the lights turned on the dimmest settings or the oil diffuser misting out his favorite vanilla-lavender scent. Hadn't expected the freshly laundered towels spread across his bed and set in his bathroom countertop, where his heated bathtub kept his oil-infused bath at the ready. With flower petals to boot. 

“What's the occasion? Surely I'm not forgetting an anniversary or something?” Cor had asked, taking Noctis’ hands into his own and admiring the red rose stains on his fingertips. 

“No, but you've been working way too much. Training and recruiting the Crownsguard, secret intelligence work, keeping contact with the Hunters. All the paperwork that would make even Iggy cry.” Noctis had explained, trying not to blush as Cor lightly kissed his fingers. 

It's funny, how Noctis had no qualms with giving affection but tended to turn pink like a young maiden when that same affection was returned. 

And here Cor was, stripped to nothing but his bare skin — save for the towel covering his lower half — as he laid himself across the towels on his bed, flopped onto his stomach and head turned to the side on a pillow, with Noctis perched above him. Unlike Cor, he was clothed comfortably in sweats and one of Cor's own shirts, old but soft with use and much too large for the smaller man. To his side, a small platter of handpaints Noctis had already dipped his fingers into. 

Noctis traced lines and circles on his back, spending extra time where Cor knew his more memorable scars should be. He's curious as to what his lover was trying to paint, what colors he's dying his scars with, and if he's even trying to create anything recognizable at all or going for abstract nonsense. It's not exactly a massage but it very well could be, with how Cor felt all the tension melt out of his body under each fleeting touch. 

Throughout all his years and his line of duty, it went without saying that Cor collected his fair share of battle proofs, scars and burns that etched themselves as permanent fixtures to his skin. There were old wounds that never quite healed right, too late for a potion to erase the scarring, and bullet holes amassed during his time at the front lines against the Niffs, when he couldn't find shelter quick enough or when he threw a greenhorn behind him and took the shot himself. He wasn't like the Amicitia, where its sons and daughters held onto their scars and flaunted them like trophies and war prizes. But neither was he ashamed of them; they were all proof he lived and served, or humbling reminders of reckless follies. 

Yet when Noctis was here, tracing his healed wounds with gentle fingers and reverent eyes, Cor felt like precious fine art rather than an expendable soldier. Like finely spun glass, delicate and fragile when he knew he’s allowed to be anything but. Cor was a warrior, a soldier, a stalwart protector and silent spy; being handled like thin china was the exact opposite of what had been ingrained into him. It had taken him a long time to become comfortable with the idea, that someone like him who held so many scars could look like a flawless gem in another's eyes, that he was  _ allowed _ to let down his carefully built walls down for once in his lifetime. All under the prince’s eyes, no less. But with each loving kiss pressed upon his flaws and marks, Cor found it easier to see himself through Noctis’ gaze. Because whatever Noctis loved must certainly be something worthy of all the adoration. 

Cor felt thin splatters of paint across his back, and he opened an eye to peer up at Noctis, straddling his lower back with a definite but comfortable weight. Among the paint stains on his hands, Noctis’ fingertips were covered in white, and the paint threatened to drip off his fingers but never did. He returned Cor’s lifted brow and curious gaze with a satisfied grin of his own, and he leaned to the side to wipe his hands on a spare towel before reaching for his phone. 

“Finally finished, Highness?” Cor asked, pushing through the drowsiness in his voice. A few more minutes of that and surely he would have fallen asleep, surrendered to the relaxing and therapeutic touch of his prince. 

“Mhmm,” Noctis hummed in affirmation, angling his camera phone just right to snap a photo of his newest art piece. 

Ever since he scrolled through that particular blog on the internet, Noctis had been enraptured by the idea of body paints and using bare skin as a canvas. Naturally, Cor had been the first — and only — guinea pig, made to strip down to his pants so that Noctis could find the perfect patch of skin to try his artistic skills on. It had been the arms at first, then the chest, and finally his entire bare body when Noctis made no show or sign at his myriad of scars. Cor had offered once, if Noctis wanted to trade roles and play as canvas, but they had both agreed the younger was far too ticklish, a cover-up for the trauma his own scar that still haunted him. A childhood wound that never quite healed right, when the young prince was but a small thing, attacked by a daemon and almost losing his life. 

“Here.” Noctis leaned in and held the screen in front of Cor’s single opened eye. 

It’s not a terrible picture, despite the poor lighting, but Cor had to blink to fully understand what he’s seeing. There’s the edges of his untouched skin, where Noctis decided were the borders of his painting, but within was a pool of blues and purples against a dark black, swirls of lighter shades streaking across his skin. There’s the barest hint of soft pink and pale gold, entwining themselves into a lazy river that broke through the darker paints, following the lines of a particularly large scar. It’s a galaxy of navy and burgundy, and clusters of light coiled around his old wounds. Among them all, he knew the white stars, where his little nicks and scar tissues should be, and the bright lines that connected them to each other. 

Cor didn’t realize he had been smiling, until Noctis pressed a finger to the corner of his lips. “I think he likes it,” he said, laughter in his voice. 

“Very. I think you’ve outdone yourself.” Cor held onto the phone for a while longer, while Noctis moved his hands to rest them on the man’s shoulders. “This constellation is familiar. I’ve seen this one before?”

Despite his attention to the screen, he’s temporarily distracted when he felt those kind fingers suddenly turn firm, kneading into the knots and sore muscles in his back. He knew the paints must still be wet, that Noctis’ merciless hands were now only smearing the careful strokes he had spent so much effort on, and that despite this was how they always ended, he can’t help but feel a bit sorry for the loss. Yet the dismay was short-lived, when Noctis worked his magic into the kinks and tight coils buried deep into his muscle, his skilled fingers turning from artistry to therapy. 

Cor let the phone slide from his fingers, and he closed his eye once again to focus where Noctis' palms dug themselves into his skin. The prince must have picked up a few new tricks, no doubt from Gladiolus who doubled as his physical therapist, because Cor breathed out a near salacious groan when Noctis bore down on a particular ache that had bothered him for the past week. They're both a little surprised at the sound, but Cor had no reason for embarrassment and Noctis only found himself feeling smug and triumphant. So Noctis kept on, using Cor's sighs and moans as encouragement and guidance. 

Noctis finally answered at the end, a little breathy from the exertion on his arms. “Leo, that constellation.”

Ah, of course.  _ ‘How apt,’ _ Cor thought. He felt a shift of weight on his back, then the tickle of soft hair brushing against his nape. Noctis’ hands turn reverent again, and they quietly ghosted his spine and hard planes, and Cor recognized the particularly soft press of lips against his shoulder. 

“Since you're my lion, y'know.” Noctis nuzzled the fine hairs on the man's neck, gifting a few more last kisses across his skin. 

“And you, my night sky.”

Noctis’ laughed a warm breath in the crook of Cor's neck. “We're so cheesy.”

“Agreed. I don't dislike it though.”

“Me neither.”

Cor missed the warmth and weight on his back when Noctis pulled away, and the dip in the mattress told him Noctis slipped off. He kept his eyes closed, basking in the afterglow of the massage but keeping his ears open for the sounds in his bathroom. There's the ripple of water, probably from Noctis checking the temperature, and the sound of bottle caps opening and closing, before he finally heard the light footsteps cross into his bedroom again. Cor only opened his eyes when a warm hand brushed against his cheek, and his heart nearly constricted at Noctis’ tender gaze, his blue-steel eyes promising nothing but ardor and love. 

And this. This is the prince he would fight hordes of daemons and armies of soulless machines for. All the battles spent in steel and blood, the silent nights infiltrating enemy lines, the sleepless hours spent leafing through documents and secret files. And if the gods would take that gentle heart from him, then Cor would wage war on even the heavens to keep his dear light shining. For all the cherished moments Noctis gave him, he would do anything to return them all tenfold. 

“C'mon, Cor. Up we go, need to clean that mess off your back,” Noctis softly chided, lightly smacking Cor's cheek to route him. 

“Join me?” he asked. Cor only managed to push himself off the bed through sheer willpower and the knowledge that Noctis had put in all the effort of preparing a special bath for him. He could have easily fallen asleep as he had been, especially if he had the prince slung under one arm and as a sweet warmth at his side. 

“Duh, who else will wash your back? Bahamut?” Noctis replied, lacing their fingers together and pulling Cor out of bed. 

“That's a disturbing picture.” 

“You can say that again.”

Cor let himself be led to the bathtub, and the warm water washed over him like a sweet balm. With his head lolled back and his arms draped over the edges of the porcelain tub, he watched through hooded eyes as Noctis stepped out of his clothes to join him. It was a bit snug for two men, but Noctis fit in quite perfectly; and Cor was infinitely thankful that the interior designers insisted on a large bathtub. Noctis made himself comfortable, leaning his back against Cor's broad chest. 

“Thank you for all this,” Cor said. He placed a kiss atop the prince's hair and watched as Noctis gathered a handful of water and rose petals in his cupped hands. 

“Mmm, don't mention it. You looked like you needed this anyway.” Noctis tipped his head back and met his gaze with an expectant look. 

Cor knew that expression, the way he liked to raise his brows and purse his lips just slightly. And he couldn’t deny him, not with all he's given him and not when Cor so wanted to give and take all at once. So he craned his neck and stole little breaths in between their lips, tasted a sweetness that could only ever belong to a certain Lucian prince. 

Just, he wished he could give him more. Noctis would never want it, but Cor would gladly give him the world if he could. He only had his life to give; his heart had surrendered so long ago. If only he had the power to pin himself as the constellation to his starry sky, to make good on each others’ names. 

And perhaps Cor could. 

“Actually. About that tattoo.”


End file.
